


Choices We Make

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Character(s), Angst, Derogatory Language, Drama, Five Year Mission, Gen, Misunderstandings, Racism, What Are Little Girls Made Of?, Xenophobia, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three-Parts. Spock always struggles to fit in. His tenuous peace is broken when Kirk returns from Exo III acting very strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. Breathing Forward

* * *

 

**2249**

“It's an illogical way to live,” they mock.

Spock moves through Starfleet Academy on most days like either a shade, or a freak; he causes waves and ripples as people shift around his stride, but others either stare or ignore him. There is no middle-ground.

But in class, when forced to interact, everyone has questions.

“How can a species survive,” they want to know. “It defies common sense to deny emotions. Emotions are the basic motivation behind evolution, growth, exploration. How can Vulcans survive. How can you survive.”

Most days, he has many answers. He gives the rote, verbatim philosophies that have upheld the Vulcan way of life for over two thousand years. He tells people how violence almost destroyed the Vulcan culture; he says that logic does not negate curiosity, or the drive for discovery, until he stops because this response is so often attacked; he says, on difficult days, “I cannot understand your philosophy, either, and yet you have survived.”

Then one day, his philosophy professor asks him this question:

“Why do you _want_ to survive, Cadet Spock?”

And, for some reason, he gives a different answer.

“Because it is my choice,” he says. “And there is nothing in logic which robs one of choice.”

* * *

 

**2237**

Vulcan's Forge can reach 67 degrees celsius by day and negative 30 in the springtime. Its deadly sand-fire storms can scorch flesh from bone in a matter of minutes, and Spock has not even begun the usual preparatory reading and studying customary for a _kas-wan_ student.

But he is a Vulcan, and above such things as regret. So he continues walking as T'Khut gleams red and angry in the sky, blotting out the stars like a vengeful goddess. It feels like her presence could reach out and strike him down – but this is foolish. Superstitious. He keeps walking.

And he walks, and walks, and walks, as the hot sun bakes the ground and strips the parched air of what moisture the night gave. In the Forge the sands are white, so his second eyelids snap up and he walks more carefully, on sore feet, half-meditating and yet not quite daring to lessen his guard. The _kas-wan_ is a time for reflection, but it is also a test. Not everyone survives.

On the second day he comes across water, and does not, in his foolishness, realize quite how fortunate this makes him. Not until many years later does he learn that most suffer through the entire ten-day period without a single drop. Many more, unable to comprehend that their Vulcan physiology can truly survive the lack, hunt down small animals and drink sustaining life-blood as their ancestors once did. But Spock, without even seeking it, drinks from a cool oasis that night and rests.

It could be considered a blessing. Or a curse, because, after all, other animals need water too.

He sleeps near the oasis that night. Not too near, because even a six year old Vulcan child knows this would be suicidal, but near enough for the wild lematya to catch his scent.

There is a saying among the Vulcans: “Bend before the lematya, and your neck is the price.”

A lematya will take advantage of any weakness. Even among the half-domesticated ones at the Shikahr Preserve, handlers know better than to falter their steps or hunch too low; any weakness excites the creatures' blood-lust. And this, a sleeping child with no defenses, is just too much of a temptation too ignore.

It comes as swift as a sand-storm, blowing from the west and striking its feet over the scrabbling sand. It is this rustling that wakens Spock; it is the scent of blood and the the snarling cry of the lematya, gorged already from a previous kill, that rouses him enough to run.

The lematya runs, too, when it sees its prey escaping. Spock can hear its wild sounds behind him, the shifting flurry of pursuit, and his heart starts to pound wildly against his side.

Something roars.

The sight of I'Chaya bursting from the night is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Spock spins around and watches the fight unfold, each creature accumulating damage in abrupt bursts of violence. Green blood is wasted on the sands. When the dual killing blows are struck, he is grieved; also, somehow not surprised.

The lematya falls back against the ground, its flanks heaving and going still. I'Chaya crawls toward Spock, desperate to the last to be sure that he is well.

And Spock sits on the bloodied sand, twining his hand through his sehlat's fur as he considers his own useless actions. He knows, suddenly, that he has not won anything. He has lost far, far more today.

* * *

 

**2249**

During his first year at the academy Spock learns that all Starfleet cadets are required to take two diversity courses as part of their pre-reqs. One is a very challenging course that requires in-depth study of major Federation members. It also studies more unusual forms of life that have been discovered. The course as a whole is meant to broaden perspectives and prevent ethnocentric assumptions or decisions. Spock looks forward to this course. The other class, _Federation Prejudices,_ is very much a human-style course. It is meant to be interactive and casual. Or, as most students say -

“A total blow-off,” a mid-shipman assures Cadet Conors, who sits on Spock's right. “Utterly useless, really. I only waited this long to take it because I didn't want a ton of challenging courses my last year, you know?”

Spock does not understand this idea - _all_ of his classes have been ludicrously easy so far - but the upperclassman is not addressing him, so he says nothing.

The professor is not even present on the first day. There is just a TA, which does not seem to bode well for the future tone of the class. Nevertheless, Spock refrains from commenting as the woman takes roll call.

As Starfleet is in large part a military institution, the atmosphere of most classes are fairly strict. He is surprised by the informality of mid-shipman Newberry, who is leading the class.

“Okay,” she starts cheerily, plopping down on the instructor's desk and swinging her legs. “We're starting out with a little game, of sorts.”

Some of the class look pleased; clearly the first lesson, at least, will not be strenuous. But Spock frowns. Vulcans do not play 'games'.

Still, sometimes one must compromise for other cultures; that _is_ the purpose of this course, is it not?

“See, it's easy to talk about prejudice in vague terms,” Newberry explains. “Discussing theory is one thing, but you need to understand that prejudice happens all the time

This is true, Spock supposes, though he does not understand how a 'game' will elucidate matters.

“So, we're going to step into the hallway a moment; it should be empty. And I'm going to read you examples of a stereotype, and you need to take one step back if this has ever been applied to you on the basis of sex, race, or religion. Got it?”

There are murmurs. Spock is dubious, but he lines up with the others.

The first is easy. “Have you ever felt discriminated against on the basis of your sex, race or religion?”

Spock does not approve of using the word 'felt', but he immediately steps back. He is surprised when several members of the twenty-person class do not.

“Has anyone ever addressed you with slurs attacking your sex, race or religion?”

Yes. But only seven others step back; five of them are females, some of whom waver for a moment.

One asks, “Does 'honey' count?”

“If you think it does,” Newberry assures her.

“Have you ever been excluded on the basis of sex, race or religion?”

“Have you ever avoided situations out of fear of discrimination?”

“Have you ever felt unable to leave a bad situation out of fear that others would make prejudiced assumptions?”

“Have you ever desired to be part of another sex, race or religion to avoid prejudice?”

“Have you ever felt _unsafe_ because of your sex, race or religion?”

Back, back, back, on almost every question. Spock begins to take only tiny, shuffling movements backward. The length of a 'step' has not been defined, after all.

There are 'positive' stereotypes, too. They are asked to step forward for 'good' but fallacious assumptions. “Step forward if, on the basis of sex, race or religion you have been thought to be intelligent,” the TA says, and Spock takes a large step forward.

He does the same for the qualities of honesty, loyalty and a willingness to work. But these are qualities that humans, looking only at his superficial appearance, think he possesses. Other Vulcans typically presume the opposite.

Spock has long been a victim of prejudice. He has never quite considered that he can be victimized with double the usual amount of stereotypes, though. The thought makes something heavy settle in his chest.

He mentally schedules meditation for tonight.

He steps forward more than the others, but not enough to make up for the steps back. When they finish, the TA asks the group to look around and see where everyone stands.

Ahead, Cadet Boyes looks around and spots Spock. She giggles. “Lord, Spock, you're almost touching the wall!”

Spock does not understand the humor, but the others look back at him and chuckle, too.

His peers stand scattered within a space of fourteen feet, which is the length that separates the first and second-to-last individual, a stumpy Tellarite.

Between Spock and this Tellarite is eighteen feet.

Also smiling, Newberry waves them forward to talk. “See?” She asks. Spock still does not understand, and the TA elaborates. “Just look at how often you've faced stereotypes in your lives! How did you feel when you had to take a step backwards?”

_How do you_ feel _, half-breed?_

“It makes me angry,” pipes up an Andorian.

The blue-skinned alien is twenty feet in front of Spock, and the Vulcan stares. The answer surprises him.

Spock is not prone to admitting to emotions. But if he were forced to acknowledge the slow twist of ice that curls in his gut - which he felt as a child only, of course, and certainly is not present now - he would be more likely to call it _shame._

“Well, of course it does!” Newberry exclaims, beaming. “Prejudice always makes people angry. It's a natural response. Do you see, now, what I meant when I said you have to _see_ the effects of prejudice?”

The class nods dutifully. Spock looks at them, wondering if their agreement is for the sake of politeness, as is common among other species. But, no; everyone appears quite sincere.

“What about you, Cadet Spock?” The TA asks cheerfully. “You were the farthest back - how did you feel about that?”

“...I am a Vulcan,” is the low response. The expected response. “Nothing.”

The TA grimaces a little, then shrugs and drops the question. Not loosing any cheer, she begins 'lecturing' on prejudice. And Spock, for the first time since coming to the academy, ignores an instructor. He turns his head toward the opposite wall, focuses on his oddly uneven breathing, and slips into the first level of meditation.

Spock breaks from his meditation when he senses movement. He senses that it is two minutes until the official end of the class period, and Newberry has stopped speaking. The others are discussing the initial activity; it is as if no time has elapsed at all.

Catching Spock's eye, one of the cadets makes an attempt to include him. “Damn, Spock,” he says. “You were way at the back!”

“Yes,” he agrees, because the statement is true. Hoping to understand the group's response, he prompts, “I do not comprehend why the situation caused amusement.”

Cadet Travis looks at him a moment. Spock thinks, optimistically, that there is understanding on the others face.

“Well, of course you don't,” Travis says. “Vulcans don't have a sense of humor, right?”

* * *

 

**2238**

Sybok is very strange.

He is fully Vulcan, this half-brother of Spock's. He is a son of Sarek but not of Amanda, and yet he laughs and walks with a languid stride like the humans Spock sees in holovids. Even Amanda herself, full-human and alien, has more composure than Spock's brother. But Sybok has no shame, and no sense of concern. Spock wishes he could be so confident as Sybok.

Sybok wishes he were half-human.

“It would give me an excuse to act different,” he tells Spock. “You don't even understand that, do you? Yes, little brother, everyone knocks you down – but so what if you _were_ some emotional wreck? You would have the right to be. Me, I'm just a weird _Vulcan-_ Vulcan – that's even worse.”

“But you have a choice,” Spock says.

“Well,” says Sybok.

“You have a _choice,”_ says Spock. “You could fit into Vulcan society if you wanted to. Or you can act like this, and be an outcast. But either way it is your own choice.”

Sybok looks at him a moment. Sharply, the lines in his face hard.

And then, abruptly, he laughs.

Spock doesn't understand.

“Little brother – little brother,” he repeats. “You're too smart for this place. Too smart for your own happiness, sometimes.”

“I am not happy,” Spock denies.

“Yeah,” Sybok says. And Spock wonders why, though Sybok is laughing, he sounds so sad. “I know, kid.”

* * *

 

**2250**

Humans refer to activities not strictly related to a person's academic and career goals as 'extracurriculars'. Spock finds this strange. There is nothing 'extra' about any of his supplemental activities; he chooses the diversions of his recreational time with great care so that his mind will be stimulated and he will learn new skills in the process. Music is one particular skill-set that he finds particularly beneficial.

No one in the mixed-music group at Starfleet Academy has ever heard of a Vulcan lyre, but they seem enthusiastic about the instrument. They welcome him into the group, but the advisor, Professor Mitt'rel, asks if he is sure he can keep up. “We have open groups on campus, but the music we play here isn't really for amateurs.”

“I am certain my ability is more than amateur.”

“Do you need assistance converting the music we're playing?”

Spock glances down at the piece the instructor holds out. His mother taught him piano years ago, and the Terran script is familiar. “No.”

“Geez,” someone mutters.

It is only due to his Vulcan hearing that he detects a voice say, “God, this is supposed to be fun – I don't want to listen to him go on about pitches and tones, I already have two classes with the guy.”

“Maybe he'll quit.

“Since when do Vulcans quit? Maybe _I'll_ quit.”

Spock takes his place and picks up his lyre. The voices hush altogether as Mitt'rel leads them through the first piece. A discordant symphony rises into the air, struggling to meet in harmony. They need practice. They'll get there, eventually.

* * *

 

**2238**

On the exact day that Spock turns eight, an elder student, Stevik, approaches him.

“Spock,” he greets. “I have noticed that your logic is more advanced than might be expected.”

Spock presumes this is a compliment to his logic coupled with his extreme youth. He is pleased, but does not betray the feeling. “I am gratified, but I would ask why you would chose to point this out. Compliments are illogical.”

“Correct. I believe that your unexpected grasp of logic may enable you to fully appreciate this.” Stevik hands him a data padd in a quick, graceful movement. “I believe your age-group has a free period for independent study in 2.3 minutes. You may find it useful to peruse this information.”

Spock is intrigued, so he inclines his head in polite agreement. Thanks are not given lightly in Vulcan culture, so he makes no indication of gratitude. Stevik departs.

Spock joins his peers in the general study room, sits far apart from the others - as per usual - and activates the padd. It is set on the first page of an essay.

After reading the first paragraph, Spock excuses himself to go to a small, private meditation cubicle. He sits down and continues to read.

The essay has been authored by Stevik and four of the older boy's peers. A side note says that their genetics instructor has proofread the document. It is forty-three pages long, with numerous citations and annotations. It presents, in neat, clinical terms, the logical argument that Spock's existence is a biological aberration and that he should, in the interest of benefiting society, immediately commit suicide.

He leaves the cubicle. When class commences, Spock takes notes with his usual efficiency. When class ends he sees Stevik standing outside the school's exit, watching him, and he sweeps past the elder student silently.

He is very careful to go through his usual routine at home. But when his typical period for rest comes, Spock stays up to re-read the essay despite his eidetic memory. When he is finished he hides the datapadd and sleeps.

He repeats this ritual the next night. And he keeps the padd as years pass and Stevik changes schools. He keeps the padd when he joins Starfleet, and when he becomes First Officer of the USS Enterprise it remains shelved next to his meditation pot. It never collects dust.

Spock knows every argument and every point by heart. Perhaps it would be easier to abandon the padd if he could craft a reasonable rebuttal.

But Spock does not think this is possible, so he never tries.

* * *

 

**2250**

“Life – all life – is precious. Some of you probably accept this unquestionably. Some of you are probably calling me an idiot in your heads right now, and you both all think that you're absolutely right, because you're all arrogant, aren't you?”

There are a few snorts. Spock tilts his head. The instructor turns and sees him.

“The Vulcans,” he says, raising his voice enough that heads twist around to look at Spock. “Believe this without exception. Life is precious. There is no reason to destroy a life – there is not even a reason to _defend your own life,_ if it means hurting someone else. A lot of people would call that admirable. Others would call it stupid. Well, that's not for us to decide, but Starfleet policy is pretty clear. You're here to learn how to defend yourselves, because when it comes down to a hot situation, we've decided that your lives are more valuable than that of your enemies. But I'm also here to tell you what it means to fight ethically, to make the hard choices when it's you against someone else, or when you're stuck in a situation with another person's life on the line. You can pray you won't be in that kind of situation, but it might happen and you can't pretend it won't.” The instructor is staring straight at Spock. “None of you.”

Spock returns the look evenly.

“...Let's get started.”

It is blatantly wrong to think that Vulcans wholly disregard the need to take lives. Even within their own society there are cases where Vulcans consider it more merciful to let people die. But to kill in violence is a different thing. Death is never to be an objective, and is always a last resort. The body is nothing, but a mind should not be wasted.

Spock takes to his physical defense classes with a tenacity that surprises his instructor. After a few weeks the man comes up and stands by Spock and his partner during the entire class to watch them work. He leaves briefly a few times to answer a question or yell at someone who is making an error, but he always comes back. At the end, when class is nearly finished, he walks up to Spock.

“It's good to practice, cadet. But I know Vulcans. Would you be able to use any of this in the field?”

Spock has been expecting this question. “I believe I have the right to defend myself,” he says.

“Do you have the right to exist when it means hurting someone else?” is the immediate rebuttal.

And, to this, Spock pauses. Because he does not know what the instructor wants.

The human senses his reluctance. “You should work it out before a situation comes up, is all I'm saying. Because there's nothing worse than freezing in a tough spot. Theory is never the same as practice, but if you can come to terms with what you might have to do, it will help.”

“I _do_ have the right to exist,” Spock says, feeling this needs to be said.

“Yeah. Doesn't everyone?”

* * *

 

**2239**

What must be understood is that Vulcans are entirely sincere when they claim to control their emotions.

Emotions _exist,_ but they are viewed clinically and made to dissipate in the same instant that they arise. Humans and other species think Vulcans are entirely without emotion, but simultaneously imagine that there is smugness, condescension, or disdain hiding behind some cool Vulcan 'mask'. This is, almost always, untrue.

It is also illogical. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations: Vulcans would no more disdain the humans for their emotionalism than they would mock a snake for its lack of wings, or a bird for its lack of teeth. So they say.

But. Spock.

Vulcans control their emotions, but they do adhere very strongly to their logic. It must be understood, of course, that not every Vulcan comes to the same logical conclusions; a logical path is totally dependent upon the first assumptions with which one begins.

This is why Surak's tenets are so vital, to guide the moral character of the Vulcan people. It is also why Vulcans often appear callous, even cruel to those who follow different assumptions; Vulcans are only flexible within the boundaries of their logic, and these boundaries differ from person to person.

When Spock is ten, a teacher gives the class a lecture on genetics. The man speaks about the frequent flaws that arise from interbreeding, and adds that while some attempts can lead to favorable outcomes, others result in defect-ridden offspring that should, for the protection of the genepool, be sterilized or even euthanized.

_“Like your halfling classmate,”_ the instructor adds.

Of course, the teacher assures, this is a personal conclusion; never let it be said that Vulcan teachers want to bias their students. The instructor asks the class to contemplate the difference between cross-breeding flowers and sullying the noble house of Surak with _tvee'okh_ blood.

“That is obvious,” one peer says. “It would have been a scandal for Ambassador Sarek to marry any Vulcan outside the noble clans, much less a human. And the introduction of outside blood threatens our cultural tenets. With those tenets threatened, so is the peace of Vulcan.”

“There is nothing wrong with humans,” another agrees. “They have their own strengths, even in areas which Vulcan cannot match. But cultural integrity must be maintained.”

The instructor finishes the class by asking students to consider the matter and write a brief paper on their conclusions for the next day. The class is dismissed.

Spock returns home and, when prompted, tells Sarek about the occurrence. Sarek listens, nods, and says, “I would recommend writing about the advantages of hybrids in general, and perhaps statistics indicating that a culturally significant amount of interbreeding is an improbable threat.”

Spock does not tell his mother about the occurrence. On Earth the instructor would be considered a bigot. On Vulcan he is offering an intellectual exercise, and voicing an opinion.

The next day the instructor collects the class's papers. Then he prompts, “Raise your hand if you argued that Vulcan interbreeding with off-worlders is acceptable.”

No hand rises - Vulcan or half-Vulcan.

And class continues.

* * *

 

**2264**

Captain Pike says Spock is a 'credit to his species'.

“God, if you're any example we should really get more Vulcans in the fleet,” he says.

Spock thinks this is meant as a compliment.

Number One, Pike's first officer, is the closest thing to a companion which he has found. In the typical fashion of her people, however, the Illyrian-born woman is distant and detached. She has a certain loyalty to her superior officer, but no real interest in Spock except for a minor appreciation for his logic on a ship full of energetic humans. Other humans find Vulcans and Illyrians similar; but they, themselves, are able to detect a dramatic divide between their cultures which is just as wide as that of any other Vulcan and human.

At the very least she does not roll her eyes when he asks for clarification about human idioms. She is also an excellent Go player.

They are sitting over this game, in fact, when Number One looks up at him and asks, “Are you planning on leaving the Enterprise when the captain is promoted?”

Spock pauses with his hand hovering over the board. “It was not my intention,” he says.

After his move Number One folds her hands neatly in her chest, observing the board for longer than necessary. Her eyes move with swift, sweeping precision. “ - He thought you might like a posting on the Intrepid. Or a starbase posting, with more scientific opportunities.”

The Intrepid is an all-Vulcan vessel.

“I believe I am content here.”

Number One nods curtly and flips a piece, then says, “I assumed as much. But you have never explained why you came here in the first place.”

“I do not understand.”

“You must have some reason for coming to Starfleet. For leaving Vulcan.”

“Yes.”

Number One waits.

Spock glances up at her. “ - You must have some reason for leaving Illyria,” he says.

...Number One smiles faintly.

She decimates him at Go, of course.

* * *

 

**2239**

It is dangerous thing when a Vulcan becomes angry.

And it is not always others who are in danger.

Green is a rare color on Vulcan. It flecks the sands and the rust-colored stones of the mountainside when Spock slams his arm against the cir-cen cactus. His legs are trembling; his arms spasm from the shock of the blow. He does not particularly register the reason behind this in any sensible way. He raises his hand again, and more blood falls to the ground.

Somewhere far-off his classmates are staring at him and talking to each other. They are calling him mad. No one makes a move to stop him. Perhaps they know that if they do, he will be inclined to turn these blows on them instead. It is only the needles in his arms, the heat blistering his skin, that reminds him: _The spear in the other's heart is the spear in your own._ Offer them peace, then you will have peace.

There are spears in his wrists, not his heart. The sky is green and he does not know peace.

He stops eventually. Not from fatigue but futility, and he stops. He slumps down and lowers his arms to his lap, where the needles in his arms prick his legs.

An instructor is finally found and comes to take him away. Another shepherds away the class; this trip is over.

Far off, he hears familiar voices. The same knowing tone from earlier, saying, _“Do you see – it is only a trick, his appearance of logic. Deep down he is only a human animal.”_

* * *

 

**2265**

It is Spock's first landing party with Captain Kirk. He would like to observe the man's command-style more, except that of course he is assisting Lieutenant Sulu with sample-collecting. On the ship Sulu frequently fences with crewmen from security, but planet-side he is curiously gentle with anything living. He digs whole plants from the ground, roots and all, and pulls them up with prodding, careful fingers. When this is done he pats the ground loosely in place so the surrounding area isn't disturbed.

Spock prefers cellular work, when he must work in any of the biological sciences – including botany – but he is nevertheless capable at this. There is a strange purple plant not unlike a venus fly-trap that lazily reaches out with tiny, pincer-like leaves to grasp at his questing fingers. Spock tries to dig around it's root, avoiding the slightest contact with the rest of the plant, so he doesn't trigger these leaves and make the plant waste energy trying to hunt him.

After he has placed a few samples in his collection boxes, he looks up to see Sulu watching him.

“May I help you, Lieutenant?”

“Oh – no, Sir, Sorry, it's just – nothing.” Sulu flushes and looks back down.

Spock finishes digging in silence.

Later, when they're looking for the captain – the man has apparently gotten distracted investigating a beautiful cave with shining, reflective rocks, security reports with amusement – Sulu says, “You handle those plants really well – do you like gardening?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Kirk is disappointed that the trip is over; they take several pictures of the cave before beaming back aboard.

* * *

 

**2247**

When Spock is ready to leave Vulcan, he tries to imagine if there is anything he will miss.

His mother, with her soft smiles and quiet words, comes to mind immediately. Every morning she wakes up the household with quiet music on the piano – or she did, when he was younger. He realizes that this tradition is changing. His mother is getting old, and her hands are weak. Now sometimes she sleeps late, and other days her wrists will ache. Humans have short lives. And Spock is not human.

He does not know that he will miss his father, exactly; or rather of course he will miss his father, but he will not at all miss his father's company, which consists of cold silences and colder conversations in these days. Spock does not know what he has done wrong, sometimes – always – but something is clearly his fault. Perhaps time and distance will mend this rift as an open dialogue has not.

There is nothing else. There are material comforts and shallow things – the heat, the music, the taste of the saavas fruit with his morning breakfast. These are not important, really. Not in comparison to the need to know who he is, and what is that thing called humanity.

He already knows more about the flaws of _Vulcan_ nature than he ever wanted.

* * *

 

**2235**

“I'm confident you'll be an excellent first officer,” Kirk says.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I want you to always feel free to voice your opinion. I value your advice, Mr. Spock, and I don't hear it often enough, so don't be concerned about speaking up.”

“I will remember that, Captain.”

* * *

 


	2. II. Aire and Death Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowledge of 'What Are Little Girls Made Of?' is probably necessary to understand this.

Though technically under Starfleet regulations it is strongly recommended for either the captain or first officer to remain on the ship when a landing party departs, Spock has become accustomed to joining Captain Kirk on planet-side trips. It is somewhat disconcerting to be left behind. Nevertheless, he is familiar with the human need for privacy. Dr. Korby, the lone exobiologist living on Exo III, is the fiance of Nurse Christine Chapel. Spock can understand his request for Kirk and Nurse Chapel to beam down to the planet personally. Kirk evidently agrees, because the two take no one else. But the pair are not gone long before they contact the ship requesting the aid of a two-person security team. Dr. Korby cannot be found.

After that, the landing party is briefly out of contact. On the Enterprise Spock gives them time, but he is just contemplating putting together a second party when the Captain signals the Enterprise – not for a check-in, but a beam up.

He is finishing a report when he comes across the captain in the hallway and moves to catch up with the man. “Captain. You finished ahead of schedule.” He follows Kirk into his quarters.

Kirk does not reply immediately. He is fiddling with a cabinet with quick, angry motions, rattling around data-squares and glancing at his padd. “Dr. Korby has considerable cargo to beam aboard. I'll have to go over our destination schedule with him - “

“You are going back down with the command pack?”

“Mind your own business Mr. Spock - I'm sick of your half-breed interference, do you hear?”

Spock pauses a moment. The raw venom in Kirk's voice startles him. “ - Yes,” he says slowly. “ - Very well, Sir.”

Kirk pauses before leaving. “You seem upset, Mr. Spock. Is everything all right up here?”

Spock stares at him. “...No problems here, Sir.”

“Good.” Kirk nods. No apology. No hint of guilt. “I'll beam up shortly with Dr. Korby and party.”

He exits the room. Spock watches after him for a moment, contemplative.

Then he turns around and heads to the bridge.

Kirk beams up an hour later with Dr. Korby and Nurse Chapel – but only these two. Grim-faced, he tells Spock that the two security guards died during a freak rock-slide.

“I told them to stay away from that ledge,” says Korby mournfully.

Spock offers to field the reports regarding these deaths, but he's surprised when Kirk actually agrees. He must be seriously affected by the negligent loss of two men under his command. It is clearly not an appropriate time to address Captain Kirk's remarks from earlier in the day.

So Spock lets the matter drop, and the Enterprise continues onward to Minas V.

* * *

 

“Nurse Chapel is acting strange,” McCoy comments. “Though it's no wonder why. Saying a man's your fiance is all good and well when you don't have to talk with him – she doesn't act like she wants anything to do with Dr. Korby.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at McCoy, spearing a forkful of lettuce. On the other side of their small table Kirk glances at them occasionally over the top of a datapadd, barely touching his own plate. “I fail to see why you should be complaining, doctor. Infatuation would surely affect her duties in a negative fashion; does this not work to your benefit?”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “Some of us care about our subordinates. And worry if they're not happy, Spock.”

“You said nothing to suggest that Nurse Chapel is unhappy.”

“She's not talking to her fiance!”

“Nevertheless, this does not necessarily signify that there is anything wrong.”

“...Please tell me Vulcans talk to the people they marry. You don't just meet up with your significant others to make little logical babies, do you?”

Spock, choosing not to dignify this with an answer, takes a precise bite of his salad. McCoy snorts.

“Don't bother trying to get an answer from him, Bones,” says Kirk with amusement. “Besides, it's not like they have anyone appropriate for him back on Vulcan anyway.”

“What do you mean?” asks McCoy, playing along.

“Other half-breeds,” says Kirk casually.

Spock's hand stutters over his plate.

McCoy gapes at Kirk. The captain doesn't seem to notice. He looks down, uses his stylus to scribble something on his datapadd, then sighs. “Hydroponics always seems to be late – Excuse me.”

Kirk grabs his still-full tray with one hand and rises. He discards his food in the matter-recycler on the way out of the rec room, not sparing either of them another glance.

“What the hell was that?” McCoy bursts.

Spock slowly shifts a tomato with his fork. He considers it for a long while before carefully lifting it for inspection.

“Spock?”

“...I am not certain what you mean, Doctor.”

“That! Jim – He – he just - “

“The captain has been somewhat stressed recently,” Spock evades.

This is true enough. Since leaving Exo III Kirk has spent much of his time confined with Dr. Korby, who is scheduled to depart when the Enterprise reaches Minas V. Both of them seem anxious. Perhaps they are arguing; Kirk often experiences tension when dealing with visitors to the Enterprise. The recent deaths of two security personnel has likely also contributed to Kirk's concerns.

“I've seen Jim stressed,” McCoy says. “'Stressed' is when he gets snappish and binges on chocolate cake, or beats things up in the gym. And he might even be a bit of a jerk – but he'd never say something like that.”

“There is evidence to the contrary, Doctor.”

McCoy exhales angrily. But he can't refute this. “...If he keeps acting like this I'm ordering a psych eval,” he threatens. Though who exactly he means to threaten, Spock isn't sure.

“I highly doubt you will find anything unusual,” Spock says.

“Assumptions aren't _logical,_ Mr. Spock,” McCoy snaps. He seems – unusually angrily. “We'll see about that.”

And then Spock is left alone with just his wilted salad. He looks down and eyes it skeptically.

Work, then.

* * *

 

“Minas V in sight, Sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk says. “Please notify Dr. Korby to report and Nurse Chapel to begin preparations, Lieutenant Uhura.”

She does so. Spock swivels around in his chair. “Sir? Why is Nurse Chapel being alerted?”

“She's joining Dr. Korby on the planet – she submitted her resignation when we were above Exo III.”

This is news to everybody – but it should not be news to Spock. It is typically the first officer's job to overlook personnel concerns, including transfer requests and resignations. “ - I see,” he says.

“You have the conn,” Kirk says. “I'm going to say good-bye to Dr. Korby.”

* * *

 

Whatever farewell Kirk has for Dr. Korby is evidently lengthy; Spock later hears that they speak in private for over an hour before emerging from the doctor's temporary quarters.

Right before the beam-down he decides to join the captain in saying farewell to their guests, so he hands the conn to Mr. Sulu. They are only in orbit, after all; there is nothing that requires his personal attention. He is almost at the transporter room when he turns a corner and sees Nurse Chapel.

It occurs to Spock very suddenly that he has not seen her around the ship since Exo III.

“Mr. Spock,” she gasps. Her eyes dart around the hallway nervously. “Oh – Sir - “

She rushes forward, shoulders ducked covertly. Spock immediately stops, wondering at her behavior. She stops in front of him.

“Sir – are you - “ she stops. “Oh, where are you going?”

“I was on my way to the transporter room. I was surprised to hear of your leaving with Dr. Korby.”

Chapel laughs suddenly. It's not a pleasant sound, and her eyes flash unpleasantly. “Yes, you should be – Mr. Spock, I don't know what to say.”

Her behavior is most strange, but Nurse Chapel has often acted erratic around him. Spock eyes her warily. “You must speak more plainly.”

Chapel bites her lip. “I don't want Korby to get in trouble.”

“Is there a reason he should be in 'trouble'?”

“ - I - “

“Nurse Chapel!”

Captain Kirk strides down the hallway, and Chapel jerks away from Spock like an electric wire has run through her. Spock looks at her expectantly, expecting her to continue; but Chapel just offers the captain a pained smile. “Sir,” she says.

“Today's the day,” he says, touching her shoulder. “Spock. You're really not needed here – why don't you go back to the bridge?”

Spock raises an eyebrow at the evident dismissal. “Sir?”

“Dismissed, Mr. Spock.”

After a beat, Spock nods and turns away. He assumes Kirk has his reasons.

The captain is better at the social aspects of dealing with humans, anyway. Perhaps he will be able to understand just what is bothering Nurse Chapel.

* * *

 

“Check.”

Spock narrows his eyes, considering the scattering of chess pieces on the board in front of him. “You are improving, Sir,” he says.

“Or you're getting sloppy,” Kirk teases.

“Quite unlikely.”

The man laughs and leans back in his seat. Kirk's quarters are somewhat cool, but warmer than the rest of the ship; in deference to Spock's Vulcan heritage he thoughtfully raises the temperature whenever he knows Spock will be inside for extended periods, which is a gesture Spock always appreciates.

“Your style is becoming less disordered,” Spock continues. “ - Less random, perhaps I should say.”

“Perhaps you're rubbing off on me.”

Spock tilts his head. “A strange axiom,” he notes, just to see Kirk smile. “ - And I find this unlikely. You are an excellent player, Captain – but I do not think you would be well-suited to the Vulcan style.”

Kirk grins easily, and Spock waits for a teasing retort. “Oh, is that right?” Kirk asks. “You're hardly a good example, Spock. You're only a half-Vulcan yourself. Maybe I should find an actual Vulcan to play against if I want to test myself.”

Spock returns Kirk's gaze. “...I consider my dual heritage a minor part of my identity,” he lies. “But you seem rather taken with it as of late, Sir.”

“None of us can escape what we are, Commander.”

Is that what this is? Some misguided attempt to provoke Spock into discussing or confronting his own parentage? Spock has spent more than enough time struggling with his genetic lineage; he needs no prompting from Kirk in that area. “I have never made the attempt, Sir.”

“But sometimes I think you forget,” says Kirk. His smile slips off suddenly; his voice grows harsh. “Playing at being Vulcan, spending your time with humans – but you're not either, are you?”

They stare at each other for a moment. Spock feels his heart fluttering in his side. He doesn't know how to respond.

And then Kirk is relaxed again. He nudges a rook. “Come on, Spock. Make your move.” He flashes his teeth. “I thought that Vulcan brain was supposed to be quick?”

“...Yes, Sir,” says Spock softly.

“You know I said to call me Jim,” Kirk chides. “At least when we're alone.”

They finish the game. Kirk wins.

* * *

 

“I'm surprised you don't mind, Jim,” McCoy says. “I expected you to argue against using the ship to ferry around diplomats.”

Kirk smiles. “There's something to be said for making connections, Bones. And keeping a pulse on politics.”

McCoy raises his eyebrows. “...Should I be worried?” He asks. “Is there a war coming I haven't been warned about? You hate politics, Jim.”

“Which doesn't mean they can't be useful.”

McCoy exchanges glances with Scotty. For whatever reason they then look at Spock – as though he, somehow, will be able to bring reason to whatever strange facsimile of James Kirk is standing here.

The three senior officers have taken refuge from the loud, demanding diplomats parading around the ship by feigning an interest in Scott's engine-upgrades – although in Spock's case, at least, the interest is at least partially sincere. Spock is not certain Scott knows of their motives. He probably would not care either way.

“Captain,” Spock points out, “Two months ago we played host to the Risan ambassador for only six days.”

“Yes, so?”

“You called him a 'pompous bag of air' and said you would only deal with diplomats under dire orders – and with strenuous objections, given the upset caused to the Enterprise.”

Kirk has the grace to look sheepish, and Scotty snickers. “Isn't your father an ambassador, Spock?” asks Kirk suddenly.

“Hey, that's right,” McCoy says. “Huh. That explains a lot.”

“Does it?”

“You act like you come from money, Spock, let's be honest.”

Scotty grins at him. “Aye, and a bit like you could fit in with our guests.”

Spock raises an eyebrow and tries to determine if this is a statement or an underhanded insult.

“Of course, I suppose you'd have to have rich parents,” says McCoy idly. “Geneticists had to help with your birth, right? Humans can't have kids with Vulcans just willy-nilly.”

“Makes even more sense when you put it like that,” Kirk says dryly. “Only an ambassador would be stupid enough to make a mistake like that.” He jerks his head toward Spock.

McCoy stills, surprised. Scotty's smile falls. Spock -

Spock looks carefully over the captain's shoulder and says nothing. After a moment, the man's easy smile returns. “Diplomats,” he sighs, looking at them in turn. Like an invitation to share the joke.

“The fuck, Jim.”

Scotty takes a careful step back from McCoy and the captain, placing his hands on his hips. He eyes Kirk warily; for his part, the captain seems bemused, staring at the slowly reddening form of Dr. McCoy without understanding. “What, Bones?”

“This isn't even the first time you've said something like that,” McCoy snarls. Scotty's eyes widen. “What's gotten into you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Kirk protests, annoyed.

“Laddie,” says Scotty slowly, “I think you owe Mr. Spock here an apology.”

“That is not necessary,” says Spock immediately.

“Spock, shut up,” McCoy drawls.

Kirk is frowning. “ - Don't talk to him like that, Bones.”

McCoy sputters.

“Come on,” Kirk adds, turning to look at Spock. “We're supposed to meet with the ambassador's aide at – 1800?”

“In fourteen minutes, yes.”

Kirk nods, touching Spock's arm as he casually strolls from the room. “Right. What did you think about his stance on the Rigellian Arms Treaty, I think he was hiding something - “

* * *

 

McCoy is speaking to Kirk only in the most technical of definitions; whenever they interact he spits out his words with a loud, “Yes, _Sir,”_ at the end of every sentence. Kirk seems confused and increasingly irritated as he tries to figure out what he's done to earn McCoy's ire. Spock feels no need to enlighten him.

Evidently looking for an escape from the toxicity of McCoy's passive-aggressive barbs, he asks if Spock would like to join him in the gym after Alpha Shift one day. Spock agrees; it may be beneficial to observe the captain in a high-energy environment. He is curious to see if Kirk's possible, latent frustration manifests itself physically.

But Kirk seems perfectly normal during his exercise routine. They utilize a small, relatively private room covered in mats which is currently not in use – the Enterprise has extensive gym facilities – and Spock begins several Vulcan stretches. Kirk hums and asks if he would like to spar.

They do this rarely – Spock's strength is great enough that he does not want to run the risk of injuring the captain, but Kirk enjoys the challenge. Today he agrees, and Kirk grins.

They circle each other warily for a moment – and then Kirk lunges for his legs. Spock twists to avoid the familiar tactic, adjusting to face Kirk's lower position. They grapple on the ground, fighting for a higher hold - and Kirk laughs.

“You're going easy on me, Spock. Come on.”

In truth, Spock is not; though he was admittedly distracted at the start, he is surprised to find that his strength seems to be lacking today. Kirk flips him swiftly on the mat, pinning him.

Kirk's eyes glitter above his face. The man isn't even out of breath. “Come on, Spock. Your Vulcan blood isn't that thin – fight me.”

Spock does. They roll over and split apart, coming to their feet, and strike. But Kirk matches him blow for blow – better, even. Finally the human throws him over his shoulder, and the Vulcan goes sprawling on the mat. He lands against the far wall panting for breath.

“So much for hybrid vigor,” Kirk says. Spock remains where he is as Kirk stretches, sweat gleaming from his chest, and turns to exit the room.

He leans his head back against the wall and breathes.

* * *

 

Kirk claps politely as Uhura finishes an impromptu song. Spock does not clap – it is not a Vulcan custom, clapping – but as Uhura laughingly bows to the scattered crewmen around rec room 2 she catches his eye and he nods. She smiles at him.

McCoy enters not long after; he sees them and makes a beeline for their table, looking wary. “Well. And how are you both?” He looks pointedly at Spock, eyes drifting between the two.

“Quite well, Doctor.”

“...Good,” McCoy huffs, grudgingly satisfied. He shoots Kirk a sharp look but sits.

Kirk seems puzzled but relieved, and immediately he asks McCoy what he thinks about the fresh recruits the Enterprise has just picked up. This is all it takes for McCoy to launch into a rant about the two new nurses in Sickbay, and Spock leans back to listen.

McCoy excuses himself not long after “ - In fact, I should make sure those idiots haven't broken anything yet - “ and Kirk favors Spock with a shrug as the CMO exits. “Well, Bones isn't mad at me anymore, it looks like. I wonder what he was up in arms about – I'll have to try and work it out of him.”

Spock provides several vague words of affirmation and says, “Perhaps he had no quarrel with you at all; humans can sometimes express their ill-will at the most arbitrary of targets.”

“Bones seemed to be pretty sure that I'd done _something,”_ Kirk says. He turns his head to watch as Uhura takes the hand of Ensign Jorada and starts waltzing around the room to the whistles of several crewmen.

“...It would be unfortunate if you were to fight,” says Spock quietly. “ - I am aware that you have been close for many years.”

Kirk looks back at him, surprised. Then he smiles. “For all that you two bicker, it's nice to remember that you're friends,” he says. “Don't worry about us, Spock. Oh, would you look at that; do you think the Ensign's species can usually bend that way?”

* * *

  
"No signs of sentient life, captain.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Spock, you're sure this was the area?”

“According to the ship's scanners, Sir. Nevertheless, the ionization in the area - “

“There always seems to be ionization in the area,” Kirk sighs. “Very well. Pairs, everyone. Proceed with caution, report immediately if you find signs of civilization.”

Spock stays with the captain as the other four members of the landing party move off. They set off east, Spock scanning with his tricorder as they proceed. Kirk chuckles.

“Your nose is buried so deeply in that thing you're not appreciating the landscape,” the man chides, though not unkindly.

“Sir?”

“We could run right over a native and you wouldn't notice, Spock.”

“I find that very unlikely.”

Kirk chuckles. “Well. I, for one, appreciate a chance to get off the ship. This world is beautiful.”

“This section of the world could be considered aesthetically pleasing,” Spock concedes. They are walking over swaying fields of tall grass; in the distance, a shallow pond can be seen shadowed by the forms of several arching trees. “However, much of the world is actually glacially cold - “

“Beautiful,” says Kirk firmly, and bounds ahead. Spock sighs.

Kirk has a tendency to get excited on alien planets – especially ones he finds attractive. The 'Iowan farmboy' in him, McCoy always says. Spock does not particularly care to determine the cause; mostly, he just finds the tendency exasperating.

He catches up in time to see Kirk regarding a fruit-bearing tree. “Please do not eat the fruit, Sir,” he says. “ - The last time you did so, remember, it turned out to be toxic - “

“I'm not going to eat it, Spock,” Kirk says. He then reaches out and plucks a small, purplish fruit, regarding it thoughtfully.

“Sir,” Spock protests.

“Calm down.”

“Sir, if Dr. McCoy were present - “

“What, you're siding with Bones now?” Kirk teases.

“The odds of alien matter being compatible with human physiology - “

Abruptly, like a switch has been flipped, Kirk's expression twists into something ugly. The fruit falls from his hand. “Mind your own business, Mr. Spock,” he snarls. Spock jolts with the shock of hearing these familiar, fury-filled words. “I'm sick of your half-breed interference, do you hear?”

These words echo the sentiment – in fact, this is the exact phrase – used several weeks earlier. Spock stares as Kirk glares at him, ducking his shoulders. After a beat, Kirk asks: “You look like Bones stole your favorite test-tube, Spock, what is it?”

After a moment, Spock slowly looks down and adjusts the dial on his tricorder. “...Nothing, Sir.”

“No, really,” says Kirk. His voice is deceptively concerned – as though he truly can imagine no reason why Spock might be perturbed. “Is something - “

_“Marvin to Kirk.”_

The captain pauses. He reaches down and flips open his communicator. “Kirk here.”

_“Sir, we've found a local village. We're keeping our distance.”_

“Excellent. Contact the others, Spock and I are headed your way. Kirk out.”

* * *

 

“Are you alright, laddie?”

Spock looks up in surprise as Mr. Scott swings down beside him. He's sitting in a turboshaft with an open panel in front of him. “Quite well, Mr. Scott. There was simply a minor fault in the wiring - “

“Which my crew can take care of quite fine, begging your pardon, Sir.” Scotty looks rueful. “I've seen you doing a lot of odd-jobs lately. Wouldn't have anything to do with the captain, would it?”

“I do not understand your meaning,” Spock says stiffly. He closes up the panel – the wiring is only half-finished, but Scotty's sharp eyes miss nothing and Spock is certain someone will be down shortly to finish the job. He starts to rise.

But to his surprise the engineer puts out a hand to stop him. “Laddie, don't think the whole crew hasn't noticed. You're all out of sorts.” He looks at Spock keenly. “Now, I know Dr. McCoy seems to think you've worked out whatever disagreement you're having with the captain, but I'm not so sure.”

Carefully pulling back from Scott's arm, Spock rises to his feet. “Your opinion in this matter has not been solicited, Mr. Scott.”

Scotty sighs. “Lad - “

“If you will excuse me.”

* * *

 

They are in the science labs when Kirk leans over and touches his shoulder, smiling. “And is this what's had you spending so much time down here, Spock? You haven't been on the bridge in two days.”

Spock is examining a perfectly mundane fungal growth under his microscope. “One of several projects, Sir,” he demurs.

The captain often conducts 'surprise' inspections of various departments, but Spock has had no reason to expect an investigation of the science labs. Kirk strolls around casually as Spock turns his attention back to his scanner, only to glance up as a loud humming sound comes from one corner of the room.

“Lieutenant Dormer?” Spock calls.

“Sir, I – I don't - “ The young woman in the far corner of the room seems alarmed. She's slowly backing away from a rattling container.

“Everyone, please exit the room,” Spock says calmly. His scientists flock toward the door; Spock swiftly moves toward the abandoned side of the lab.

“Spock,” Jim protests sharply.

“Sir, please leave. Computer, begin containment protocols in fifteen seconds.”

“Spock,” Kirk insists.

“Sir, I must ask you to exit before the protocols activate.” Spock leans forward to examine the mixture more closely, trying to determine if there is an immediate threat to the ship – and, if so, how to disable it. If he can. After a beat, he pauses.

“Spock! I'm not leaving you - “

“Yes, I quite agree,” says Spock hastily. Kirk stops mid-sentence, baffled, as Spock grabs his arm and shoves him toward the door.

 _“Five seconds,”_ chirps a cheerful voice.

There's a dangerous rattling sound. Kirk glances over his shoulder. His eyes widen. Spock stumbles as the captain grabs him around the waist and throws himself over the Vulcan.

There's a deafening screech of shattering glass, followed by the percussive silence that only follows devastation. After a long pause, Spock raises his head.

His head is throbbing – there is a heavy weight over his back, and the room smells strongly of burnt oils that he can't immediately identify. It takes a moment to understand what has happened – which is in itself not a good sign – and when his memory catches up Spock immediately struggles out from the limp form draped over him, turning around.

“Captain - “

Except.

Blank hazel eyes stare up at him from the floor. The captain's arm is flung outward as though he is trying, still, to reach for his first officer. Kirk's legs are bent awkwardly along the floor. They do not move.

Along his back there are glass shards that have cut through the thin material of his shirt. A piece of broken metal lies embedded in his skull. It sparks and sputters with broken electric currents.

“...Captain.”

There is no answer, of course, and Spock does not expect one. He moves to his knees, carefully reaching out and touching the man's neck. He waits, but there is no pulse.

“Sir?” Someone shouts outside the room. “Captain Kirk? Commander?”

There is a low fizzing sound from the corner of the room, muted and garbled. It crescendos to a high whine and then dies away. Something is dripping along the floor.

More alarmed; “Sir?”

With infinite gentleness he reaches down and hooks his hands behind the human's knees and shoulders. Kirk slides into his grip like a broken doll. His arms fall askew as he is lifted.

Spock stands very still for a moment.

“Commander?!”

Determining that there is no danger in the room, Spock slowly turns. “Computer, end containment protocols and open door. Override First Officer Spock.”

There is a quiet beep.

Lieutenant Johnson is the one to cautiously step into the room, using all the care appropriate when entering a potentially bio-hazardous area. She looks at the ground first, noticing where she treads. She spots Spock's standing form with naked relief; then she sees what he is holding, and she freezes in place.

Spock slowly picks his way out of the room. It needs to be quarantined, decontaminated, cleaned so that there is no more danger in the lab – all projects that can be salvaged must be reclaimed – but he does not give these orders, and the details slip from his mind like smooth glass. They seem insignificant.

A hush falls over the hall as he steps out. People ripple apart to make way where he walks. Grief lines every face. Across the hall, Lieutenant Dormer turns away, stifling a sob. He does not look at her.

The medical team comes thundering down the hall in complete defiance to this sobriety. But they skid to a dumbfounded halt when Spock only stands still, not moving. At the head of the team McCoy makes an aborted motion forward, blue eyes panicked, and reaches out. Spock makes no effort to hand over the captain.

That is enough for them to know.

* * *

 

Eventually, Spock fills out his report. With it he files the exact details of his own, completely unacceptable reaction to the situation – including his too-slow attempt to assess the volatility and nature of the ill-fated experiment just before its explosion. He recommends that he be brought to charge for negligence of regular safety standards.

A man is dead – the captain is dead – _Jim_ is dead, for him. Because of him.

He goes to Sickbay an hour after the incident, though he mostly desires to meditate. He is in command now – though given his own fault in this mess he is seriously considering defaulting command to Mr. Scott – but he has a responsibility to Dr. McCoy. The CMO will need to make his own report, and aside from all professional considerations the doctor is doubtlessly feeling the effects of Kirk's death as well.

McCoy is not immediately available when he enters Sickbay. Spock waits for several minutes as Dr. M'Benga eyes him warily from across the room. Finally a door to a private examination room slides open, and McCoy steps out. He stops as soon as he sees the first officer.

The doctor's face is carefully blank.

Spock does not imagine this ordeal is easy for McCoy, who has known the captain longer than himself. Humans do not possess the ability to distance themselves from their emotions as Vulcans do, but Doctor McCoy refused the option of letting someone else perform the captain's autopsy.

“Doctor.” Spock stands with his shoulders square. He carefully exhales. “...I know this is difficult, but if I may have your report - “

“Did you notice that he didn't bleed?” McCoy interrupts.

Spock pauses. He eyes McCoy, examining him for signs of grief. “ - I beg your pardon?”

The doctor stares at him intently. “It - Jim. The body that was in the lab. It didn't bleed, did it?”

For a moment, Spock doesn't understand what McCoy means. Then he thinks back to the moment when he saw Kirk's prone body lying inert on the lab floor. He was covered in shards of glass and bits of metal – but -

“No,” says Spock slowly. His eidetic memory is useful in this instance. “...There was no blood.”

McCoy nods slowly. “You need to see something.”

Spock allows McCoy to lead him into the private room, the door hissing shut behind them. For a moment he does not comprehend what he's seeing.

Kirk's chest has been cracked open – but there are no broken ribs, no pulsing organs or gleaming pink strands of muscle. Under a thin layer of some pale, fleshy substance sleek silver wires and tubing extend through the construct's abdomen. Spock slowly moves nearer despite himself. The intricate, flexible machinery is made to mock the give of a human body. Most of the machinery is dark, but some pieces still glow and whir in quiet, frustrated motion.

He turns back to the doctor mutely.

“We need to find Jim,” says McCoy.

* * *

 

Later, Spock meditates and tries to determine how James Kirk has been replaced.

This is the conclusion he, McCoy and Mr. Scott have reached: Kirk had a thorough physical after the incident over Alpha 177 where he was negatively affected by a transporter beam. The transporter itself would not have affected inorganic matter, and Dr. McCoy took blood samples among other tests. Therefore it is evident that Kirk was replaced with an android – a highly sophisticated android – sometime after that mission.

While he is not busy being horrified with the implications of this, Scotty has been marveling over the android's design.

“I've never seen anything like it, Sir,” he tells Spock earnestly. “And the neural patterns - ! I know it would have to be sophisticated to convincingly mimic the captain, but...”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott. If you can focus your attentions on determining a point of origin for the machine, that would prove most helpful.”

But Scott has found nothing. McCoy has no theories, either. There are only so many opportunities for infiltration, Spock supposes – but the possibilities are still too great for his comfort, especially when one takes into account that they are potentially dealing with a race which handles highly sophisticated technology.

He meditates at length. Surely no machine could be a perfect facsimile of human life. There must have been discernible differences in its personality. Strange behaviors. Anomalous patterns starting... when? Has the captain been different lately, and, if so, where did it start – what happened to the original Captain Kirk – when did this begin -

_“Mind your own business, Mr. Spock – I'm sick of your half-breed interference!”_

Spock opens his eyes as realization strikes him, and it's like the sun parting through a long night.

* * *

 

Spock slams open the last door of the cave-tunnel under Exo III with more force than is strictly warranted. A team of security officers fan out behind him, phasers held high. They peer around the Vulcan to look into the room beyond.

Captain Kirk is standing next to a slim woman, both of them wearing strange blue and green jumpsuits. Kirk looks mildly exasperated. “It took you long enough,” he says. “I was starting to think you were never going to come.”

* * *

 

On the Enterprise McCoy runs an exasperated Captain Kirk through dozens of tests to ensure that he is, in fact, himself.

Kirk just wants to know everything that's happened in his absence.

“The ship is secure, Sir, I assure you - “ Spock tells him.

“Except for the fact that an impostor has been running around for two months. Well – I'll have security sweep the ship for bugs. Not to mention my quarters - “

“I don't understand,” complains McCoy. He checks his scanner “You're you – I can see that. The thing in the morgue is clearly an android. But none of it makes sense. I spoke to that – that thing. Just last week he wanted me to tell my cousin 'happy birthday' for him. How could he have known details like that?”

“Korby's machine didn't just copy the body. It copied the mind – perfectly.”

“That's impossible.”

Kirk shakes his head. “I'm not disagreeing, Bones. No machine can just take over the life of a person – but it acted like me because it had my memories. My personality. Even if it didn't feel any real motivations behind it's actions.”

McCoy shudders. “The sooner you make your report, the better, Jim. Korby needs to be caught – and quick. Imagine a planet of those things... A system...”

Jim nods. “I'm sending a priority-one message to Starfleet, don't worry. But we know where Korby went, after all; I don't expect there will be any problems. Anyway, Bones, am I clear?”

“Well, you're not an android. Yeah, you're clear. Get some rest, though, will you?”

“I've done nothing but rest for nearly two months.”

“On a barren rock, which is completely different. Get used to being back on the ship. Don't stress yourself – you're back, after all. The emergency's over.”

At that, Kirk softens. “Yes, it is.” He flashes Spock a quick grin. “I was getting a little worried, Spock – but I knew you'd figure it out eventually.”

* * *

 

Later Spock reflects on the captain's words from Sickbay. He knows – from his own observations and experiences – that Dr. Korby's androids are a true feat of engineering. He has no reason to doubt Kirk's word that they can perfectly duplicate the thought-patterns of the person being mimicked.

The android even sacrificed itself for Spock. It explored an alien world and picked up flowers. It saved his life, as the captain surely would have.

It called him a half-breed.

He does not know how to reconcile these things.

* * *

 

There is new life to the crew with Captain Kirk's return; his supposed 'death', though rumors of the event only circulated briefly, had stricken the entire ship. Efficiency rises by 5% with his return. Kirk seems pleased by the crew's reaction.

The captain calls Spock to the briefing room after a few days; Dr. McCoy is also present and already talking with the captain. “Security found these,” he says, and hands Spock a tiny device. When he looks closer he finds that it seems to be a small piece of recording technology. “One in my quarters – maybe the android expected that he wouldn't be around forever. Spock, I want you to go through the ship's computers and check for anything suspicious.”

Spock agrees.

“Any news on the android, Bones?”

“Starfleet sent word – they're hauling it to a lab on Earth when we reach the next starbase. Thank god. I'm a doctor, not an engineer.”

“Good. They've found Dr. Korby, so I don't expect we should face any more problems.” The captain frowns. “Apparently he's already made a few more androids – but they haven't been released yet, and haven't left the planet he was using as a base. It's good he was caught so soon. Those duplicates he makes are perfect.”

“Well, maybe not perfect,” McCoy drawls.

Kirk looks startled. “Mine seemed quite convincing when we talked.”

“Android-you was a bit of an jerk to Spock,” McCoy says pointedly.

“I'm sorry, Spock,” Kirk says immediately.

“You are not accountable for the actions of the imposter, Captain.”

“No, but...”

_“Captain to the bridge?”_

Kirk pauses, glancing away. “ - Sorry,” he says again, frustrated. “I'll explain later – excuse me.”

Spock inclines his head and watches as Kirk leaves. McCoy shrugs. “You should talk to him about it,” he says. “It was weird, how that android acted.”

Weird.

It is certainly one word a person might use.

* * *

 

Spock turns down Kirk's offer of chess.

He also declines an offer to eat with the captain at lunch; to spar with sticks in the gym; to sit together while combing over the reports from Communications. “I believe, Sir, that it would be more efficient to work independently - “

After a few days of these evasions the captain is looking frustrated; but eventually Spock allows the captain to cajole him into his quarters, luring him in with probably-planned scientific queries and a 'remembered' article in his room that Spock 'absolutely must see'.

He presses a cup of tea into Spock's hands as soon as the Vulcan is inside, looking greatly relieved to have him sequestered in a private place – and just as determined to keep him around. “While I have you here,” says Kirk, abandoning all pretenses, “perhaps you can tell me what you've found so fascinating in your quarters that you've hidden yourself away for the past four days?”

“I have meditated,” Spock says evenly. “And it can be restful to retreat from the atmosphere of the ship - “

“Restful, sure,” Kirk agrees at once. “And that would be fine, except I keep coming across you in the rec room or botany labs. And then you run off as soon as I come over.”

Spock pauses. Perhaps he is not very good at being subtle. “...I do not run,” he objects weakly.

“Walk away very, very fast then,” Kirk corrects dryly.

Spock takes a sip of his tea to stall for time. The captain sits down, eyeing him. At length Kirk says, “Did I do something?”

“No, Sir.”

“Is something bothering you?”

“To be 'bothered' would imply a state of disturbance stemming from an emotional upset - “

Kirk raises his eyes upward. It is a distinctly human gesture, though one more commonly employed by Doctor McCoy.

Clearing his throat delicately, Spock adds, “If you desired to meet tomorrow night, Sir, to go over the latest transfer applications for astrophysics, then I would not object.”

Kirk returns his look with some wariness. “Tomorrow night, hmm?”

“Indeed.”

“...Alright. But you'd tell me if there was a problem, wouldn't you, Spock?”

“Certainly, Sir.”

* * *

 

Spock supposes that it makes a good conciliatory gesture to accompany Captain Kirk on his tour of the decks the next day after Alpha-shift. It certainly seems to put the man at ease; in any case he stops giving Spock strange glances after the first hour.

They linger in Linguistics – members of the relatively small department frequently work on their own projects when the Enterprise is not directly assisting guests or visiting a new planet, and they always seem pleased to be noticed. Kirk lingers with one woman in particular.

“Oh, yes,” he says. “The Xanthian language – I remember them. We had a good time on that planet. But the natives, I remember, they kept coming up and asking us to get out of their buildings – and then screeching and waving at us when we complied - “

“Oh, yes, I've looked over those reports, I think the Xanthians were actually talking about personal space – most of their language is basically built around architecture, directions, and the composition of things. They describe everything based on what it's _made_ of and what it resembles...”

Kirk is grinning at the enthused ensign as she rambles. Spock distantly admires the captain's ability to elicit open, comfortable communication from his subordinates.

“What's most interesting,” she continues, “Is that they have a tendency to get confused by their own language – a lot of the words are constructed based on subjective ideas about what description would best fit an object, so they contradict each other.”

“That seems quite imprecise,” Spock says.

“But it allows for such flexibility! And it really lets the natives think in original ways, the psychologist I sent this too is having a field-day...”

“Originality can exist without confusion,” Spock says.

The ensign shrugs. “Well. It's definitely fun.”

“...That is hardly a scientific quantifier, Ensign,” Spock says at last, exasperated.

“I suppose Vulcans are above such things as fun?” Kirk teases.

Spock stiffens.

When Spock fails to respond, the captain adds, “I'd like to see you try to talk to the Xanthians, Spock. It could take a long time to finish a conversation, though - “

The ensign nods her agreement, smiling at Spock. This look falters a moment later; he is staring rigidly over her head, eyes fastened on a small wall-panel. She glances around in confusion.

“Engineering next?” Kirk suggests, taking his silence for disinterest.

“Yes, Sir.”

* * *

 

Perhaps Spock is not so good an actor as he assumes. When he arrives at the captain's quarters to go over the transfer applications, as promised, Kirk immediately grants him entry but does not seem eager to attend to their work. “Are you alright, Spock?”

“I have already told you I am well, Sir.”

“I feel like you're protesting too much.”

“I am forced by circumstances to protest when you continue to ask the same question,” Spock points out.

Kirk doesn't smile. “Today, during our shift...”

Spock does not want to discuss whatever Kirk has observed of his behavior. “Sir, are we going to attend to these transfer requests? They are growing in number.”

Kirk eyes him. “...Yes,” he says at last. “ - Yes, let's begin with people who want to transfer off the Enterprise, so we can see who needs to be replaced...”

This is the easier work. If someone wants to leave the Enterprise, they will not be forced to stay, though there is always a question of whether or not they will receive a preferred posting. Sometimes, there is discussion over why someone wishes to leave and whether this could signify a problem; in the past Spock has tried to encourage subordinates to stay when they seemed to be making hasty decisions, and in other circumstances it is important to note how the dynamic of a department might be altered.

Today one file stands out. “Lieutenant Vrekarien cites hostile working conditions as his reason for leaving,” Kirk notes. “We haven't had that before – prejudice from his coworkers, because he's Gravarian? He's one of yours, in astrophysics, isn't he?”

“Yes. Though I admit to being skeptical of his claims, they should be taken seriously nevertheless.”

“But, you've heard about Vrekarien having problems,” Kirk continues. “First he complained to everyone who would listen that his previous captain hated him because Vrekarien was _more qualified_ than him – and I've met Captain Yelsen, that's something I can't believe, mind you. Then he started going on about how his coworkers were conspiring against him because they were jealous of his position... And then he lied about having his work stolen, didn't he?”

“He claimed that he authored Lieutenant Travis' work regarding microbial parasites, though I have been observing her work since before he joined the Enterprise.”

“Right. And now he wants to go because he's saying everyone hates him because he's Gravarian.” Kirk sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can't tell if he's trying to hide the fact that everyone hates him for far more _justified_ reasons, or if he honestly believes that. He seems to have something of a persecution complex.”

Spock agrees, so he isn't sure what compels him to say, “His concerns could have merit.”

“Have you noticed any disturbing behavior among your staff?”

“No.”

“I suppose it should be investigated,” Kirk concedes. “We don't want prejudice to slip by just because we were too sure of ourselves.”

“...Indeed.”

“Not that I could really see anyone on the Enterprise being an old-fashioned bigot.”

“You seem very sure of your crew, Sir.”

“Well really, Spock, do you find it likely? In this day and age? One person here or there, that's unfortunate and it might happen, but the department as a whole? Not on the Enterprise.”

“I find it more unlikely to imagine a person who does not contain, to some extent, a trace of bias or irrational resentment toward another group. Or, indeed, even milder forms of prejudice such as condescension. The degree of this partiality might be greater or lesser in some individuals, but I must imagine it exists.”

Kirk is frowning. “Well, everyone - “

“While I cannot immediately conceive of any group to whom I am predisposed to treat unfavorably, I do not exempt myself from this classification. And I would very much not exempt yourself, Sir.”

Spock realizes his error immediately.

Kirk leans back in his chair. “'Very much' – that's an interesting wording, Mr. Spock.”

“...No offense is intended, Sir.”

“I'm not offended,” Kirk assures. Maybe this is even true, but his eyes are piercing. “I just said it's interesting.”

Spock looks down at his padd. “The next transfer request,” he begins.

“I'd be curious,” Kirk interrupts, “to know how I've been racist up to this point, Spock.”

“I did not say you were racist, Sir - “

“I think it was implied.”

Spock returns the captain's gaze. “Jim.”

The soft rebuke is enough to make Kirk frown. Some of the tension slips from his shoulders. “ - I do want to know,” he says, now without any trace of hostility. “Spock. If _I've_ made anyone on this ship uncomfortable - “

“I'm sure you have not, Sir.”

“Someone off this ship?” Kirk hazards.

“No, Sir - “

“You don't say anything thoughtlessly, Spock. If I'm doing something wrong, tell me.”

The worst thing is, Kirk looks sincerely concerned. Of course he does.

“I won't be offended,” Kirk says again. “I try to keep an open mind, but I'm just human. I'm not perfect. And I appreciate your perspective as a half...”

Kirk pauses.

“...I'm sure you have a different perspective,” he says slowly, changing the direction of his statement. Spock stiffens as Kirk rakes his eyes over him as though inspecting the Vulcan for... something. “ - Spock. When that android was here - “

“Captain, I must insist - “

“Did it say something to you - “

“This conversation has gone quite off-topic - “

“Because you know that wasn't me, and - “

“We have many files to finish - “

“Even if the programming was convincing - “

“There are four replacements needed in Linguistics - “

“In fact, I bet I know what he said - “

“But if you are not going to work, I will - “

_“Half-breed.”_

Spock flinches despite himself. Kirk looks startled at this reaction despite his own convictions, and his momentary pause gives Spock a chance to rise. “Captain,” Spock says stiffly into the ringing silence. “If we are done, I will return to my quarters - “

“We are not done,” says Kirk, who also rises. “Spock – why didn't you say anything?”

“There is nothing to say.”

“You know that wasn't me. It was an android.”

“As I said, Sir, there is nothing to say. I have no interest in holding you accountable for the actions of Dr. Korby's creation.”

“If this has been bothering you, you should have said something.”

“I was not - “

“When did he say it?” asks Kirk. There's an odd note of curiosity in his voice now. “Right after the mission? Later?”

“ - There were several incidents where the machine displayed surprising behavior,” Spock admits. “ - And used – less than diplomatic language.”

Kirk is startled. “ - Several – I didn't expect that,” he says. “At your – he insulted your heritage? Multiple times?”

“You seem to be aware of this already.”

“What did it say?” Kirk persists.

“... _Typical_ insults.”

Kirk – frowns. But does not inquire further. “Spock, I'm sorry.”

Spock does not understand. “You had no means of influencing its conduct - ”

“But it _is_ my fault, what the android said to you,” Kirk interrupts. “The machine took those words from my mind.”

Spock stops. It is one thing to suspect but quite another, he finds, to find his concerns justified. He finds it hard to respond – hard to breathe past the aching pain in his sternum.

He has known this. Kirk's admission should mean nothing.

“The android said those things,” Kirk continues, “Because I wanted him to. Because I focused hard enough on thoughts and words I would _never say,_ exactly as Korby's process took place, in the hope that the thing would be flawed and you would realize it wasn't me. When days went by I thought it hadn't worked, Spock – I didn't realize – I didn't think you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

“...My logic was clearly in error,” says Spock stiffly. “I recognize this.”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“If such an event arises in the future, I assure you I will now know how to respond appropriately.”

“If – _Spock._ That's not what I'm saying.” Kirk steps forward carefully. “You know I'd never say those things, don't you?”

Instead of answering directly, Spock says, “Individuals are often pushed past the boundaries expected by courtesy when under stressful situations - “

“It's not _courtesy_ to be... human, Spock.”

“But you will find it is perfectly human to distrust what is different,” Spock counters. “ - Dr. Korby's invention was quite perfect by all accounts.”

“ _Not_ by all accounts.”

“Of course, Sir,” Spock concedes politely.

Kirk frowns.

“Spo - “

“We should return to our work, Sir.”

Kirk looks at him.

“...Alright,” he agrees at length. He sits down, looks long and hard at Spock, and they do.

It does not feel like a victory.

* * *

 

If Spock finds it diverting to assist Mr. Scott with engine updates over the course of the next two days, he hardly thinks this is strange. He is the First Officer and Science Officer. It is, after all, his duty to remain cognizant of all the ship's systems, and Mr. Scott seems so pleased to have assistance -

* * *

 

It is half-way through Alpha Shift when Dr. McCoy strolls onto the bridge in the direction of Kirk, spots Spock, and abruptly changes direction.

“You,” he accuses. “Are you aware that Ensign Penden, Ensign Uti and Lieutenant Trevors have each logged double-shifts for four days running?”

“To my understanding they are engrossed all in a project.”

“It isn't healthy!”

“It is their choice to work,” Spock replies. “In any case, they should be finished soon. I will not halt them if they are not exhibiting signs of fatigue.”

“It isn't healthy,” McCoy repeats. “Humans can't function like that – with no rest, no relaxation. Just because you're a robot doesn't mean you can expect the same from you subordinates.”

“I have not expected anything from them. I assure you I will intervene if their efforts prove destructive.”

McCoy snorts with disgust. “And you're supposed to be the judge of that? I've seen the hours you put in. That Vulcan blood of yours works like oil - “

“Let up, Bones,” says Kirk suddenly. McCoy turns around sharply. “I saw those three just this morning in the mess hall – they were practically vibrating, they're so excited about that project. As long as they're sleeping enough and taking breaks I wouldn't worry about it.”

McCoy looks mutinous. “I don't like it,” he says.

“Then take it up with Spock's team,” Kirk tells him. “It's their decision.”

“I might just do that,” McCoy snaps, and he leaves the bridge.

It seems like a relatively innocuous exchange overall. Spock returns to his station until the end of Alpha shift and makes a mental-note to check on his staff later; despite his words to McCoy he does, indeed, wish to ensure that they are well-rested, though he very much understands that scientific intrigue can overwhelm the need for physical demands. He is surprised when Kirk matches his stride on the way to his quarters.

“I hope you're not too busy?” Kirk asks. It doesn't sound quite like a question.

Spock acts like it is. “No, Sir.”

They enter Spock's quarters together and Kirk heads in first. The door has barely swished shut behind Spock before the captain turns to look at him, his arms crossed squarely behind his back. “That was an interesting conversation earlier today.”

“Sir?” Spock pretends to misunderstand.

Kirk doesn't let him. “You didn't say anything to him. McCoy. A month ago you would have argued with him – debated with him – right? You didn't say a word. Why not?”

“If I addressed every one of Dr. McCoy's errors, I would have little time to do anything else, Sir.”

But Kirk keeps looking at him. “Did I – the android – did we make you like that?”

Spock exhales. “You are projecting your own concerns, Captain.”

“I don't think I am - “

“Sir,” Spock says. “Perhaps – I do have matters to attend to.”

...Kirk nods. “Alright. But don't think I'm letting this go.”

Unfortunately, Spock entertains no such delusions.

* * *

 

They are planet-side, trying to trade with a local store-owner to get a spare dilithium crystal for the Enterprise, when a local says plainly, “I know about you – you're that mutt Vulcan, aren't you? Half-and-half, s'why you're with them,” and the man jerks his head toward Kirk and Ensign Trey, also present. “Get out of here – I'll do the business with these ones, we don't need you.”

Kirk has gone rigid. Trey, for his part, just looks uncomfortable. After a moment's thought Spock clasps his hands behind his back and inclines his head. He is certain Kirk can finish the deal alone. “Very well,” he says. Kirk's face twists, but Spock catches his eye and continues. “Please inform me if I am needed.”

The local makes a snorting sound and waves him off.

So Spock wanders away and inspects a brilliantly-colored display of conductor arrays. Kirk comes up several minutes later, face slightly red. Trey is hefting a box that presumably holds the crystal.

“Ensign,” Kirk says, “Why don't you beam up and take that to Engineering? Scotty will know what to do with it.”

Trey looks between them, eyes wide.

“Now, please,” Kirk adds.

The ensign calls the ship and disappears in a haze of blue light. Kirk glances around.

“Let's get out of this shop,” he says.

They walk outside. Most of the world is heavily industrialized, but it's evening here and the planet's triple-moons are showing in a small line across the purple sky. Spock tilts back his head to observe them like somehow doing so might help him ignore the upcoming conversation.

Kirk opens his mouth – and, for once, Spock decides to speak first.

“There is nothing to be done, Sir.”

Kirk looks at him. “ - Is that right?” he asks.

“It will never stop,” Spock tries to explain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you ignored it, once. Bigots like that man. And now _you've_ stopped. It gets to you. And that's a sign of – something.”

“I disagree.”

Kirk is walking too close to him; the heat from his skin radiates into the alien air. “I think you're starting to believe what people say, is the thing,” he says. “ - Maybe because you are different. But that's not bad, Spock. It's never been bad.”

Spock simply wants to end this conversation as quickly as possible; therefore he is not sure what causes him to say, “That would seem to be a minority opinion.”

“...Alright,” Kirk says softly. “You think so?”

“Sir - “

“Then I'll just have to keep telling you how good you are – I can do that.”

Spock is uncomfortable with this frankness. “Sir. I understand that Dr. Korby's creation was a separate entity – it is unnecessary to continue bringing up this matter - “

“This isn't about Korby.”

“...It... is not?”

“No. Maybe it was a little, at first. Mostly, even. But I can see how much it bothers you to even think of your heritage – it had to have bothered you before, too. I know people talk, make comments without thinking. You never say anything.”

“I am not concerned with - “

“And,” Kirk continues, completely ignoring Spock's weak protest, “that's a _problem._ That you don't speak up. And in the future I want you to – to point it out if I say anything wrong, anything to make you uncomfortable - but if you can't, that's fine. And I'll be thinking about what I'm saying now. And I'll be reminding you, as often as I can, that you have no reason to care for what anyone else thinks.”

Spock stares at the captain. At last he says, lamely, “I do not have a problem, Sir.”

“Of course not,” Kirk agrees cheerfully.

Spock's neck and ears feel uncomfortably warm. Heat starts to rise to his cheeks, and Kirk's face suddenly softens.

“You're worth more than anyone else's opinion – even mine. Especially mine.”

Spock thinks this seems like an odd clarification to make.

And Kirk seems sad, suddenly. “ - Of course, you're worth more than your own opinion, too,” he says. He seems to catch Spock's look. “ - But you'll understand that eventually, I hope.”

Kirk says many things he does not understand. “I believe it is time to beam aboard, Sir.”

Kirk nods his head in agreement.

* * *

 

Avoidance only works to an extent.

Spock might tell Kirk about his new ensign on botany who seems so, so excitable, and Kirk replies, “Of course she's excited – she's working with the best science officer in the 'fleet.”

He works day and night and Kirk says, “I wish I had your stamina,” smiling, like it's a compliment.

(And no reference to 'Vulcan stamina' anywhere to be found).

He compliments Spock's work, his music, his opinions, and sometimes just – _Spock._

They're standing with Scotty and Sulu in the hallway as Spock tells them about his latest theoretical paper that's being published in the _Shikaar Journal of Astrophysics_. Scott is the only one fully following his explanation, but Kirk and Sulu know enough to understand the implications of his project. Scotty and Sulu look impressed and pleased for him, but Kirk -

Kirk has an altogether odd look on his face; that same strange, soft look Spock can never quite quantify. “Mr. Spock,” he says emphatically. “You are _remarkable.”_

How – subjective.

Spock turns over that word in his mind for awhile. Remarkable. Remarkable. He does not see how this is a logical description.

And he decides, finally, that he has avoided Kirk enough. There is no sense in persisting in a tactic which does not work.

He decides to confront the captain later in the day. Kirk is pleased when Spock comes his quarters – he is always pleased when Spock comes to his quarters. “Did you want something?” he asks.

“Yes,” Spock says plainly. “Sir, I am here regarding our conversation of several weeks ago, regarding Dr. Korby's android.”

Kirk immediately looks more alert. “And?”

“You stated that it is your intention to – remind me of certain qualities. I find these statements disconcerting and I would request that you desist.”

“You - “

The human pauses. Some of his tension has faded, but now he looks pensive. “...You're going to have to tell me which comments you're talking about, Spock.”

Spock folds his hands behind his back. It had been his hope that Kirk would simply understand his meaning. He uses the day's earlier conversation as a reference and explains.

Kirk – actually looks a little startled.

“That wasn't why I said it,” he says. “I told you you're remarkable because you _are._ Nothing more, Spock.”

Spock looks at him.

“Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Not entirely.”

“Maybe that's part of the problem.” Kirk considers him. “ - Do you know, Spock, when I first came to the Enterprise everyone told me I'd have to earn your respect. Admiral Komack, Nogura – even Pike. They said I couldn't expect you to react like a human – that you wouldn't take orders from someone who wasn't worth the air.”

Spock is quiet for a moment. “As a Starfleet officer, I am obligated to follow the instructions of any superior officer.”

“You are,” Kirk agrees. “And I think you would, too. But somehow everyone made the same assumptions – they decided you were different and alien and they'd have to be careful. And I think they were mostly just afraid that they wouldn't be good enough.”

“Fear is illogical.”

Kirk watches him for a moment. “Yes,” he says. “It really is.”

* * *

 

Spock continues to avoid the captain. Kirk continues to pursue. It is easy to tell that the man is frustrated.

Kirk arrives at Spock's quarters the next day. “Sir. I am afraid that I do not have time for - “

“I'm just here to go over the summary reports from last week, Spock. Also, Starfleet's sent an inquiry about those soil samples we picked up on that Class K planet. They found some strange results and want you to confirm.”

Spock blinks. “In that case, I will need to recover some data from Science Lab 3. I could collect it now, if you do not mind waiting.”

“Oh, there's no rush.”

“It would only take eight point three minutes,” Spock assures. “You may wait here.”

“Well - alright. Do you mind if I - ?” and he gestures toward Spock's book-collection, a gleam of his interest energizing the man.

“Not at all. I will return shortly.”

He retrieves the data. It actually takes him nine point one minutes, because a passing ensign has a question and slows him, but Kirk is human and hopefully will not notice this error. He reenters his room holding the data square and turns to look at the captain.

Kirk is standing silently by the books. Instead of holding one of the antique texts, however, he holds an outdated datapadd, well-worn and child-sized. Spock pauses on the threshold of his door, then slowly steps inside.

“...Captain.”

Kirk keeps his eyes trained on the padd. When he speaks his voice is carefully level. “What is this, Spock?”

The familiar address makes Spock raise an eyebrow. “An essay,” he says.

This is true. The fact does not quite account for the curl of traitorous unease flickering through his skin.

“...Perhaps I should clarify. Why do you have this essay, and why does it _exist_ , Spock?”

“I have it because the author was a peer, and felt I would benefit from reading it. It exists for the reason that all essays exist; to argue a point and illuminate others.”

“Illuminate others,” Kirk echoes flatly.

Spock pauses. Something about Kirk's tone is concerning. Thinking about how his possession of such an essay could be viewed, he feels the need to add, “While I _disagree_ with the argument, I do find the reasoning philosophically interesting.”

Finally Kirk looks up. His expression is oddly fierce. “But you _do_ disagree. You would never - “

“No, Captain. Suicide is condemned in Vulcan philosophy.”

This is meant to be reassuring. Kirk's sudden stiffening, and the intensity of his gaze, makes Spock wonder if he has erred.

“But you're not fully Vulcan, are you, Mr. Spock?”

Stunned, Spock stares. “Sir?”

“Do you follow Vulcan philosophy, Mr. Spock? Or is it just an act?” More sharply; “And cultural concerns aside, do you _feel_ that it's a good idea?”

Icily: “I will not stand here and be insulted.”

For a moment Kirk looks at him blankly, almost confused. Then he jerks back, eyes flickering to the padd. Brusquely, he throws the offending document on the table. “Damn it, that's not - that's not what I meant, Spock - “ Closing his eyes, the captain lets out a low, angry exhale and abruptly sits down.

“ - Sir?”

“How long, Mr. Spock?”

“I do not - “

“How long has _this - “_ and Kirk gestures at the cracked padd, “been going on?”

“ - I do not understand the parameters of your question.”

“Really.”

“Specifically, what _'this'_ is. Your wording suggests an ongoing issue, but to my knowledge this is only one of three essays my classmate wrote on the subject - “

“Three - !” Kirk bursts, and then visibly contains himself. “No. I. _No,_ Spock. I mean, being discriminated against in general. By Vulcans and humans.”

Spock blinks. “To my knowledge, my existence was highly controversial even before I was born. It would be impossible to give a precise date.”

Kirk grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and bows his head, flexing his hand in a tense gesture against his leg. Spock waits, unsure what to do. He recognizes these actions as ones of intense emotion, but...

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk finally says, in a very odd and very intense tone, “do you know what hearing that makes me feel?”

“...No, Sir.”

“Angry. Extremely, extremely _angry,_ at everyone who thought it was acceptable to make you – _accustomed_ to this.”

“And does that change anything, Sir?”

This appears to take Kirk off-guard. Jerking up his head, he asks, “What?”

“Does you anger change anything?”

Spock keeps his tone light, without inflection. Perfectly even. He meets Kirk's wide hazel eyes, and for some reason feel the flutter of his heart quicken in his neck.

Suddenly the captain sags. “...No. No, of course not.”

Spock moves deliberately. He turns and hands Kirk the data from Science Lab 3, and Kirk takes it as though he has no idea what's going on now. “I intend to meditate the rest of the evening if you have any questions,” Spock says coolly, and glances pointedly at the door.

“Spock - “

“Captain.”

“No.” Kirk looks angry. “This is – this is enough. You aren't facing any of this – Any of what happened the last few weeks, or - “ he gestures helplessly at the padd. “ - And we're talking about it.”

Spock observes him clinically for a minute. “Are we?” he asks.

“Yes!”

...Spock nods. “Computer, lock door. Captain, please sit down.”

Kirk pauses, then does. His shoulders are bunched with tension. He leans forward when Spock sits, clearly having no intention of letting Spock distract him this time. He picks up the padd, clutching it in his hands like a weapon.

Spock surprises him by speaking first.

“Captain, why do you seem to think I have no experience in these matters?”

Kirk is caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”

“You act as though I have never faced prejudice – as though I am utterly new to it,” Spock says. “Or, perhaps, I should say that you respond as though you are utterly new to it. I appreciate that you regret the actions of your android counterpart. I appreciate your declaration that you would not, in fact, take those actions yourself. Captain, I do not appreciate your apparent belief that you understand my position as a half-Vulcan.”

“Spock, I know you must face certain difficulties - “

“You know nothing,” says Spock flatly.

Persisting, “I'm sure it can't be easy, but that doesn't mean you can ignore problems when they happen - “

Reaching over the table, Spock takes hold of the datapadd still clutched in Kirk's grip. Kirk releases it, falling silent, and Spock sets it between them again.

“You know nothing,” he repeats.

“...Alright,” Kirk says, staring at the incriminating proof. “...Maybe not.”

“I would not expect you to understand these things, captain. But I do expect you to accept that I know how to manage my own life.”

“You – alright, Spock. But you should have reported me - the android-me. Can't you understand how that's troubling?”

“Captain, if I reported every prejudiced remark I heard I would have little time for actual work.”

Kirk's expression goes carefully blank.

“Most are not serious,” Spock says. “And not even, I think, intended from complete malice, though this is not an excuse. But it is an explanation. I do not report those – I certainly was not going to report you. Not when i hoped - " he pauses. This, perhaps, is too much.

“Spock, just – promise me if anything like that happens again, ever, you won't put with it. I mean it.”

“Jim - “

“I don't – I don't understand. Alright. But if anything like that happens again, ask for help. Please.”

“ - Very well.”

He thinks he means it, too.

Probably.


	3. III. Lament for a Rising Star

Her name is Saavik.

Spock finds her on a dying planet, angry and raging. She knows the color of Vulcan blood, too, but she thinks he does not. She does not know of the teachings of Surak except for half-whispered fables muttered by the dying. She thinks he is a fool. She yearns, at the same time, for his approval.

She has it without reservation.

A half-Romulan. Hated. Outcast. _“Too_ different,” she says. “ - A barbarian.”

“Not different at all,” he always says instead. She scowls at him.

When she comes to him in tears one day, talking about the people who call her a half-breed and a mutt, he tells her she is stronger than all of them. He tells her she is different but not worse. He tells her she is like him, and this last part, at least, she trusts.

Maybe there is something to this, then, the knowing.

Saavik takes to her lesson with a ferocious tenacity, but her control is tenuous still. “One day I will be as famous as you,” she says fiercely. “ - Then no one will mock me. Not ever again.”

When she is older, they visit Starfleet Academy together.

Spock still has his rank. He is saluted by cadets when he passes down the halls. When the comment comes, it is close enough for both he and Saavik to hear it.

“Oh, nice - Senior-Citizen Vulcan is coming to lecture. God, what's he doing here – isn't he on like a five year leave, or some shit?”

“Geez, I think he has a kid - “

“Can you imagine Vulcans having _sex - “_

“Ew - “

“Lay back and think of logic?”

“Ha - “

Spock places a hand on Saavik's shoulder as she quivers with rage. Her birth is still a delicate subject. He turns his head and points. “Cadets – you three. Come stand here.”

There is a pause as the guilty parties shuffle their feet, glancing at each other as though somehow unsure if he is addressing them. After a moment, they approach.

“You will report to Admiral Kirk for discipline by tomorrow, and count yourself fortunate if you are not placed on probation. I do not expect such language from cadets who are expected to interact with members of allied planets. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Dismissed.”

When Spock turns, attempting to check and see if Saavik is distressed, he finds instead that her eyes are gleaming. She has noted the whole interaction.

“Why can't you punish them?” She demands.

“I do not work at the Academy currently.”

“But you _could_ punish them, if you did – they have to listen to you.”

Spock narrows his eyes delicately. “Please do not get overly attracted to the idea of punishment and revenge, _Saavik-kam.”_

She looks entirely unrepentant.

When they reach Admiral Kirk's classroom the human stands up and grins at them. “Spock! And _you.”_ Jim grins at Saavik. “It's great to meet you.”

“Admiral Kirk.”

“Do you like the Academy so far?”

“I want to join Starfleet,” says Saavik suddenly.

Jim looks taken aback by this statement. Spock is not. “Saavik.”

“You are in Starfleet. You are highly respected and have found both professional and personal fulfillment. It is a logical choice.”

“My path should not be yours. If you think Starfleet is appropriate for you, I would find this acceptable, but do not join for the wrong reasons.”

“You cannot judge my reasons.”

Spock pauses. “Perhaps not. But I would have you consider them carefully.”

“I will do so,” says Saavik so quickly that Spock is wary.

“...Well,” says Jim awkwardly. “I'm sure you would be an excellent officer, anyway.”

“Of course I would,” she says.

At that, Jim smiles.

“I was thinking about lunch,” he says. “Should we go together? They have vegetarian options.”

As they leave, Spock reflects that he has indeed been fortunate. Saavik is correct; he has found fulfillment in all aspects of life. He has earned respect. And he does not worry about the opinions of strangers; he is now certain about the regard of everyone who matters.

He watches Saavik's small, dark head bob in front of him as they walk. She twists her neck to look at passing trees and birds. When she catches his eye, she shifts her shoulders suddenly, looks forward, and walks a little bit straighter – a little bit stiffer.

Hopefully others are also as fortunate.

 


End file.
